


Building Bridges

by ChalkHillBlue



Category: Holby City
Genre: Corporate rubbish, F/F, Genuinely sorry, Jac Naylor will make you pay for this, Terrible team-building away day, They aren't metaphorical bridges but neither are they effective, crackfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 04:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9532118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChalkHillBlue/pseuds/ChalkHillBlue
Summary: Holby's board of governors is concerned that the hospital's consultants are not forming the cohesive bonds needed for effective leadership in a dynamic and patient-experience-focused medical environment. There's nothing for it but to send their top staff on a training day to brush up their communications skills and teach them to work together as a more efficient unit.It's not the way that Bernie and Serena would have chosen to celebrate their engagement, that's for sure.





	1. Learn to Lead Together!

* * *

 

**‘Communication Excellence for Team Leading Partnerships!’**

**L** ead your teams by being better communicators!

Build  **E** xcellent relationships with your your colleagues!

 **A** dopt the best practices for sharing idea-sharing!

 **D** o it! Get things done! Keep on doing them!

Wednesday, April 25th. Grand Wyvern Hotel.

_Lunch included._

* * *

 

 

The trio gathered in Hanssen’s office was not the enthusiastic team of synergistic go-getters that the board was probably imagining for their brochures. Sacha Levy looked as though he’d pulled a double shift (which he had) and was only being kept awake by caffeine and the loud noise of his own shirt. Berenice Wolfe was, as ever, inscrutable. But her stillness was that of a predator. It was hard to forget that behind her down-curved lips and hooded eyes was a woman trained to take down enemy insurgents if necessary. Jac Naylor had twice Ms Wolfe’s wrath and none of her restraint and was glowering with open hostility.

“Mo and I both need to be at this thing at the same time?” she demanded again, voice dripping with an almost teenage disdain.

“Yes, Ms Naylor,” said Hanssen. “To go separately would rather undermine the aim of improving communication.”

“God forbid the need for somebody to actually be on the ward treating patients come ahead of improved communication,” Jac scoffed.

“I could of course send Mr Rossini with you in place of Ms Effanga,” offered Hanssen.

At that Jac physically recoiled. “Christ, no. This circus will be bad enough without bringing our own clowns.”

Hanssen raised an eyebrow. He was, perhaps, thinking that the happy family on Darwin Ward might need even firmer intervention than could be provided by a one-day workshop on Communication Excellence for Team-Leading Partnerships. (The hyphen had been added to the brochure in Hanssen’s own pen, and an exclamation mark redacted. He understood the need to show willing with the board, but there was no excuse for sloppy punctuation.)

Sacha evidently sensed a storm brewing. Ever the peacemaker, he propped his eyelids open long enough to intervene before Jac could say anything more.

“So, am I bringing Ric as my date to this thing then?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr Levy. The workshop will give yourself and Mr Griffin the chance to, let me see, reappraise your joint leadership styles so that you can more efficiently help him in day-to-day magnament tasks. Hmm. I presume that was meant to be ‘management’.” The pen came out again.

“Sorry-” It was the first time Bernie Wolfe had spoken in the meeting. Her low, slow, precise voice rather put one in mind of a lioness raising her head at the approach of a herd of antelope, Hanssen thought. “Surely Ms Campbell and I are exempt from this?”

“I am afraid not, Ms Wolfe. AAU, Darwin, and Keller are all included.”

“But Serena and I don’t need pointers to – ‘learn to recognise each others’ communication styles and bolster a sense of camaraderie’!”. (This last part she read from the leaflet held at arm’s length as though contaminated.) “We _have_ camaraderie. I am _marrying_ her – that’s how much camaraderie we have!”

At this declaration Sacha perked up a little.

“I didn’t know you two were engaged!”

“I – um – I asked her on Friday and she – uh – she said yes.”

“Aww, that’s lovely! Congratulations!”

Bernie smiled. Then immediately frowned.

“We probably want to make a proper announcement about it when I’m not just using it to win an argument,” she conceded.

Sacha grinned. “Don’t worry. Won’t say a word. Your secret’s safe with us. Right, Jac?”

“I genuinely couldn’t be less interested,” said Jac.

“Congratulations indeed, Ms Wolfe,” said Hanssen. “But I’m afraid the board is adamant. You are all required to take this training. There will, I am informed, be free pastries at lunch.”

“Oh, well, that’ll clinch it then,” said Bernie. “Serena’ll jump at the chance. Especially if there’s bad filter coffee too.”

“Don’t worry,” reassured Sacha. His smile is slightly manic. “I’m sure she can’t be any pissier about this than Ric will be. Fun!”

 

-oOo-

“Bernie, I’ve just had the weirdest exchange with Sacha Levy at Pulses.” Serena walked into their shared office carrying two coffee cups that probably contained enough espresso between them to fuel a small tank. “He kept winking at me. Is he all right?”

“Coming off the back of a double shift,” Bernie said. “And also I might have told him about the engagement thing.”

This stopped Serena in her tracks.

“You told _Sacha Levy_ we’re engaged? Bernie, I thought we were going to keep it quiet? We haven’t even told all the kids!”

This must be true love, Bernie thought. It must be. Because Serena was looking at her like she was the most irritating idiot ever to walk the earth and it was more beautiful than sunset over the Persian Gulf. She would happily be Serena Campbell’s idiot for the rest of her life.

“Sorry,” Bernie said. But she wasn't, really. “The perfect opportunity arose to mention it and I just couldn’t resist.”

“What opportunity?”

“We were both in the same room.”

“Oh, Bernie.”

Bernie desperately wanted to kiss her fiancée. ( _Her fiancée!_ ) She didn’t, of course, because they had strict rules for themselves about how they behaved in work. But she did move over to perch on the edge of Serena’s desk to collect her coffee and tried to communicate with just her eyes exactly what she’d like to do to her if they were at home now. Serena blushed. _Ha! Take that, seven styles of communication for improved excellence_ , she thought. But oh dear, that reminded her that she was going to have to break the news to Serena about what they’re doing next Wednesday.

“Did you find out what Hanssen wanted?” Serena asked.

“I think you should take a good solid swig of that coffee before I tell you,” said Bernie.

 

-oOo-

There was indeed bad filter coffee. It was served in those small white cups that somehow managed to minimise the volume of coffee you got while maximizing the surface area so that the inevitable result was five tepid mouthfuls. The milk was UHT. Bernie’d drunk worse, truth be told, but she was so aware of the silent ranting going on inside Serena’s head that she could practically hear her thoughts as though they were her own.

The event was being held in a conference room in a local hotel. It was probably a nice room if you were having a party, or a Christening do, or something. At that moment the combined dread and annoyance of thirty medics from all over Holby was ruining the ambiance though. Serena said it was like the ante-room to hell.

Some silent signal was given and the host of the damned made their sullen way towards a set of tables that had been arranged in a large square. At its head was a woman whose name badge proclaimed that she was Genevieve their Consultant Team Leader. Next to her was a bloke in a suit whose badge Bernie couldn’t see. He looked about twelve. She mentally dubbed him Jack the Lackey.

The first task was to break the ice. Genevieve had a PowerPoint slide for it. There was a penguin with an ice-pick. Bernie was glad that Genevieve was too far away to hear what Serena said about it because otherwise they might have ended up in court.

“I want you to take five minutes,” said Genevieve brightly. “Interview your partner and get them to give you a potted account of who they are. Then you’ll introduce each other to the group. Don’t assume that just because you already work together you know about each other – you might be surprised at the things you’ve never thought to ask!”

Serena spent the entire five minutes bitching about the coffee. Bernie listened and sneakily brushed her hand against Serena’s knee as much as she thought she could get away with as Jack the Lackey circled the group for no clear reason.

Then Genevieve went around the table. One by one she had them introduce each other as promised – giving some salient details about each person in the room, which Bernie promptly forgot. When it got to their turn Genevieve called on Bernie to go first.

And look, Bernie knew – she _knew_ she shouldn’t do it. But she was happy. Happier than she’d ever been in her life, maybe. And this workshop was pointless for them. And she didn't _want_ to share Serena – to tell these random strangers boring facts as though knowing where she went to uni would give any of them the least sense of the value of Serena Campbell. So she lied. She lied spectacularly.

Serena – she told them – was one of nine children. Four of her siblings were ministers in different religious denominations, could you believe that? They all converted. Serena herself never married or had children, but she was kept plenty busy with her cats. They were all named after characters from _The Magic Roundabout_. Ermintrude was off her food at the moment, and Serena almost hadn’t come that day because she was worried about her. Serena didn't drink, but she was a keen bridge player.

Throughout it all Bernie focused on keeping her face open and sincere. She didn’t dare look at Serena. Or at Ric, Sacha, Jac, or Mo. Only when she’d finished and sat back down did she dare to glance at the woman beside her, afraid she’d crossed a line. Serena didn't look angry. She looked competitive and gleeful and dangerous in that way she always did right before she kicked Bernie’s ass at something. (Or tried to. Sometimes Bernie won. Sometimes she lost. Sometimes she deliberately threw the game – whatever it was - just to see Serena crow.)

Bernie held her breath as her partner took her turn to speak, wondering what she would do.

Serena got her revenge by telling the truth.

She started by telling them all that Bernie had recently gotten engaged to somebody who was much too good for her. (This elicited a chuckle and got the room listening to Serena more closely than they had to anyone else. It was the way she told them, Bernie thought.) Then she started into the army stuff. Bernie’s greatest hits were trotted out in rapid succession. Her tours. The innovations in trauma surgery, (which Serena made sound like they were all the solo work of Berenice Wolfe instead of a mishmash of lucky collaborations at random intervals in her career). She even mentioned the bloody medal. All of it was delivered in a sweet and slightly breathy voice. A tone Bernie had only ever heard from Serena when she was talking to the younger Fletchlings.

It dawned on Bernie what Serena was doing. She was playing a part. More specifically, she was playing the part that Bernie had written for her just a minute before – a rather innocent tee-totaling cat lady without much excitement in her life. And she was using it to her advantage to make it sound as though Bernie had been leading her up the garden path with outrageous exaggerations or outright lies about her own achievements. There was a Machiavellian brilliance to it. Bernie half wanted to stand up again and point it out to the room. To say: look! Look how clever this woman is and she’s _mine_. The other half of her wanted to leave right now and drag Serena home to bed.

Serena finished up with the suggestion that Bernie once overhauled the entire medical system of Ukraine. Genevieve said something kind and gave Bernie a dirty look for having so clearly lied to her sweet and trusting colleague with the sick cat. Attention moved to the man to Serena’s left.

When nobody was paying attention any more, Serena leaned over and whispered in Bernie’s ear: “I love that I don’t have to invent a single thing to make you sound like a superhero.”

“You’re going to get me in so much trouble before the end of today, I can tell,” Bernie hissed back.

“You started it.”

“No, Serena. I’m pretty sure I’m always just trying to keep up.”

“Oh, let’s just agree that we’re both marvelous and focus on getting through this nightmare alive.”

-oOo-

 


	2. Develop Strategies for Excellence!

For the next ordeal they were split into groups of six. Bernie and Serena found themselves with Sacha, and Ric, and a pair named Dmitri and Bette from Obs and Gynae in St James’s.

Serena thought she was prepared for the worst. Experience should have taught her otherwise, she realised. There was always a new low. But even her intense scepticism could not have prepared her for the appearance at their table of Jack the Lackey (she was incapable of retaining his actual name now – thank you very much, Ms Wolfe) carrying a box of craft supplies. There was sugar paper, glue, markers, and scissors.

“What in the world?” exclaimed Bernie.

“How the hell is this meant to make us better managers to a team of surgeons in training?” Ric snapped. Serena got the feeling he was not buying into the spirit of today’s workshop at all. She'd have to let Hanssen know about that.

She looked down at the silver safety scissors Sacha had passed across to her. “Maybe it’s about showing them how we manage to cut out the tricky bits,” she suggested, holding the blunt blade like a scalpel.

Bernie and Sacha snorted. Ric shot them a dirty look.

Later Serena would concede that Jack the Lackey probaby _did_ explain why it was that they were supposed to build a bridge from paper. She just didn't have the capacity to remember what he'd said from one end of his sentence to the other. At the other side of the room she saw Jac Naylor sitting with her feet up reading the old newspaper they'd been given for the task. At least she herself wasn't the worst-behaved member of the Holby team, she thought with a touch of pride.

Bernie was studying their materials carefully and sketching something roughly on paper. (They weren't allowed to start yet. Because something something teamwork whatever.) As she watched Bernie at work - blonde hair in her eyes, brows furrowed in concentration - Serena wondered if one could go into cardiac arrest from simply finding somebody so adorable.

To distract herself she tried to engage Dmitri in conversation. He was dull as a spoon, she decided, but probably harmless. They talked about the weather. They talked about traffic. They discussed the routes they'd each taken to get to the hotel and observed that yes, indeed, the best route to take probably did depend on where you started from. Conversation dried up.

Unfortunately, Serena had apparently made Dmitri feel that more was expected of him in terms of polite chatter. He seemed to be casting about desperately for something to say. After a failed attempt to find a sport he and Sacha had in common, his eyes fell on Bernie, who was carefully cataloging their equipment and obediently not moving anything out of the box but simply nudging things aside with her pen. ( _No, I really might die watching her_ , Serena thought again.)

"Berenice, was it?" asked Dmitri, leaning over awkwardly to read her badge.

"Bernie," said Bernie automatically without looking up.

"Just wanted to say congratulations on the engagement, eh?"

"Oh, er, thanks," said Bernie, finally lifting her eyes to look somewhere into a slightly panicked middle distance.

Ric and Sacha watched but kept their mouths shut. Bette looked interested. Dmitri barrelled on.

"So how did he propose then, your fella? Romantic story?"

Suddenly Serena felt a wave of guilt. She'd only been thinking of teasing Bernie when she'd said it. And - truth be told - there'd been a frisson of excitement in announcing it while still keeping it a secret by not revealing to the group what Bernie and she were to each other. Now she realised she'd put her partner on the spot. Forcing her to choose whether to come out to strangers. She caught Bernie's eye and signalled her apology. But Bernie just gave her the slightest of smiles. _It's okay, Serena. We've got this._

"I proposed, actually," Bernie said.

Serena didn't need to look around to know that Ric Griffin's little ears had pricked up. He'd probably been wondering how much of Serena's icebreaker material was true.

"Did you?" asked Bette. "That's a bit unusual, isn't it?"

"Well, my partner's the type who likes to be made a fuss of. Ouch! Sorry. Bumped into Ms Campbell's foot."

"How did you do it?" asked Dmitri.

"Well, we're both surgeons, you see," said Bernie. "So I put the ring in a patient's abdominal cavity."

"What?" it was Serena herself who asked the question.

"Didn't I tell you that part? During an appendectomy. I slipped the ring in. And then I pretended that the patient had a bleed and called for support in theatre. And when we opened him up, tada! There was the ring. It was very romantic."

Sacha guffawed. Serena wondered if she could somehow divorce Bernie before they were even married. Or if she should just take her home right now and teach her to make better use of that mouth. Bette, Dmitri, and - it must be said - Ric all looked like they didn't know whether to believe the story."

"I swear it on Ermintrude's life, Serena," Bernie said.

-o0o-

A few minutes later they were forcibly separated into two groups of three. It suddenly became apparent what it was they were meant to have been doing. Ric, Serena, and Bette were moved to one side of the room with half the supplies and told they were to use the plans they'd been drawing so that they ended up with a bridge identical to the one Sacha, Bernie, and Dmitri would be building at the other side of the room. _Oops_.

Ric growled something and began a belated inventory of their craft box. Serena didn't join him. She wasn't about to sit down and play with glitter at her age. He turned to Bette for help instead. A fussy little woman without any telling evidence of a sense of humour, Bette thought she might be able to recall what Ms Wolfe had been drawing.  She and Ric promptly disagreed on how to begin.

As the other two worked on what Serena was confident was a futile project, she looked around for Bernie and quickly found her. Jason might be impressively fast at those _Where's Wally?_ puzzle books they kept in the family room on AAU, but he had nothing on the speed at which Serena could track down Bernie in any crowd. Bernie seemed to sense Serena's eyes on her and looked up. Serena smiled, raised two fingers slightly in the air, saw Bernie nod and knew the message had been received.

Job done, she turned her attention back to Bette and Ric.

"Having fun?" she asked.

"You could help, you know," Ric snapped.

"And step on your manly toes? Wouldn't dream of it."

Ric gave her a look. Then he softened a little.

"So, is it true? About - ah - about Bernie's engagement?" (This with a side glance to Bette.)

"You mean did she really propose via a malpractice lawsuit waiting to happen? No, I believe that was a joke."

Ric rolled his eyes.

"No - I mean - it's true she's getting married?"

Serena felt herself smile much wider and much more sappily than she thought she probably should to keep up the charade. She couldn't help it.

"It's true. And the real story is much lovelier - I'll tell it to you later over drinks."

"Well I'm happy for her," said Ric with a gentle smile.

"So am I," said Serena. And then, to keep herself from tearing up she teasingly added: "She's marrying a truly fantastic lady."

Ric laughed. "Well, absolutely."

Bette coughed.

"Lady?" she asked. "You mean she's marrying another woman? You never said."

Ric's smile dropped from his face with comic speed. He stiffened and looked like a deer caught in the headlights. _Oh dear_ , thought Serena. _Really? The arts and crafts wasn't enough today?_

"Yes," she said flatly. "Another woman. Why?"

"Gosh, that's very modern, isn't it?"

"Is it?"

Ric said nothing but stood awkwardly holding the sellotape aloft. Serena wondered if he'd forgotten he had it in his hand or if he had some half-formed plan to tape this woman's mouth shut if she said the wrong thing.

To Bette's credit she seemed supremely unaware of the atmosphere her words had conjured and barrelled on obliviously.

"What's that like, do you think? Wouldn't there be an awful lot of talking an, you know, getting in each other's way? I suppose it would be rather nice to have a wife around the house"

"I don't think that's quite-," Ric began. But Bette cut across him, warming to her theme.

"You'd have somebody to help with the hoovering at last, wouldn't you? Haha."

"Mrs Fenton, this isn't an appropriate conversation for a professional environment," said Ric solemnly and with a tone that indicated the topic was closed for further discussion. Serena felt a rush of fondness at this attempt at gallantry. Bloody team-building days - she must have caught some earnestness from the brochure.

"Oh, isn't it?" said Bette. Then a look of horrified realisation spread across her face. "Oh, I _am_ sorry, Ric. Are you - is it a sanctity of marriage thing? I didn't mean to offend you!"

Ric stared back at her with the helpless gaze of a man who had been married five times, twice to the same woman.

"Satire is dead," said Serena. She left Ric to do the explaining and wandered off in search of Jac Naylor.

-o0o-

She found Jac perched on a window sill, slightly obscured from the rest of the room by a poster stand, and still reading the paper.

"Did _you_ know our MP was embezzling?" Jac asked without looking up when Serena perched beside her.

"Yes," said Serena. "It was quite the story when it all came out at Christmas."

Jac looked puzzled. She flipped back to the front page and looked at the date. "Oh."

"Not building bridges?" Serena asked.

"Sooner jump from one. You?"

"Delegating."

"Ah."

They sat for a moment in companionable contempt for proceedings and looked out the window over the lake. _Nice spot for a wedding_ , thought Serena. Pity about the traumatic associations today would leave them all with.

"By the way," said Jac. "I saw you giving Bernie that salute before. Sneaking off to have sex in hotels at a seminar will land you in a whole world of trouble."

"I'm not going to ask any follow up questions about that one," Serena said. "But I'm not the sneaking off type. He might be though." She pointed to Jack the Lackey who was hovering some meters away eyeing them warily. "Fancy your chances?"

"Ugh. He should be so lucky."

"Well throw him the glad eye anyway. I need him to come over here and take a bribe."

Jac looked at her in disbelief.

"You're not going to actually lower yourself to having him _Blue Peter_ a bridge for you?" she asked askance.

"No," said Serena. "I'm going to make him go and get me proper coffee."

-o0o-

Jack the Lackey's real name was Philip, it turned out. He had a business degree from Exeter, and he was fast enough on his feet to be back to Ms Campbell with two large coffees (and a mild asthma attack) just as Genevieve was calling the room to order.

Serena drifted back over to Ric and Bette; pulled back the coffee with a shake of her head when Ric reached for it.

"I can't say I'm very impressed with your bridge, Ric. Won't even hold a coffee cup."

"What are you doing, Serena??!"

Ric howled as Serena plonked her own cup down on the wobbly roll of paper Ric had constructed, squashing it flat.

"Serena!! What? Why?? How could you do that?!!"

"Oh, calm down, Ric. Don't worry Bette, I've got it covered."

For a second Ric looked like he might actually murder her, but she was saved by Genevieve calling out:

"All right, everyone! Back into your groups. Let's compare these bridges and see just how well you've mastered your idea-sharing techniques!"

Sacha, Bernie, and Dmitri ambled back across the room. Sacha appeared to have quite a lot of glitter in his hair. Bernie was smiling a small self-satisfied smile. The newspaper bridge she placed on the table was small but absolutely sturdy. It had paper-clip girders. There was brickwork drawn in on the side.

Ric grunted a compliment and glared at Serena again.

Bernie smile widened just the tiniest bit. She pulled her left hand from behind her back and placed a second, identical bridge next to the first on the table.

"Two bridges, as the lady requested," she said quietly.

Serena beamed and passed Bernie the second coffee, which Bernie took with the gratitude of a woman dying of thirst.

 _God, this woman is incredible_ , thought Serena.

 _God, this woman is incredible_ , thought Bernie.

Serena wasn't sure exactly how long they'd been staring at each other when they were interrupted by a cry of delight.

"This is incredible!" gushed Genevieve. "Look at these two bridges! What sensational team work!"

"Oh well," said Serena. "It's all about communication, isn't it?"

**Author's Note:**

> I stalled out on all of my other fic while awaiting canon developments. Decided I'd wait until I had it finished and post all at once rather than risk leaving it hanging forever. In the interim - here is some nonsense.


End file.
